Archive of Our Own ^beta

It started one night after something had set Ford off. 

He didn't even know what it was. Someone in the town they'd stopped at saying something a little off, looking a little strange… the world seeming to warp around him. 

He could feel himself becoming paranoid. 

He wouldn't sleep. 

He'd told Stan he could go to bed, but he just watched Ford pace the deck of the docked ship, hands clasped behind his back, keeping himself awake and trying to think. 

Think of what? 

Ford stopped for a third time, to insist once again that Stan should go to sleep without him. He knew sleep was a lost cause for himself. A bad idea, even. 

A terrifying one. 

“C’mon, Poindexter,” Stan sighed. “I'm not letting you drive yourself mad out here.” 

“I'm not driving myself mad,” Ford said defensively. “I… just don't think sleep is a very good idea for me tonight.” 

“Sleep is supposed to happen every night.”

“One night won't kill me.” In fact, it just might save his life. 

“I'm not goin' to bed until you do,” Stan insisted. 

Ford stopped and turned towards him. “That's not fair. You can't do that.” 

Stan just shrugged and leaned against the doorframe as a reply.

Okay, he could do that. 

Ford began to pace again, restless, his mind still racing but now having Stan to think about as well. Ford was the one keeping him out here. He was too stubborn for his own good. They both were. 

Finally, Ford relented and let Stan take him inside. He offered to stay with Ford as he fell asleep—Ford nearly scoffed at that, he wasn't going to sleep. 

They ended up crammed together in the bottom bunk, Stan's bed. It certainly wasn't comfortable, but it was comforting. 

Ford was facing away from his brother, towards the rest of the room. He could easily look for threats from here. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he had enough sense to know it was Stan. Still, before the thought had a chance to cross his mind, he flinched at the unexpected touch. 

“Hey, Ford,” Stan said in a quiet voice in the quiet room on the quiet boat. “It's safe to sleep. You know that, right?” 

Ford stared out into the small room, the words catching up with him. 

Safe to sleep. 

Stanley was right, of course. Things were different now. 

“Are you certain?” 

“Yeah,” Stan said without hesitation. “We're safe.” 

Ford's tense body deflated with a sigh. 

Stan was right there. It proved things were different. 

He'd never felt truly safe without him. 

Stan rubbed his arm, it was comforting. “Get some sleep, Sixer.” 

It's funny, because Ford could probably recall Bill saying the exact same thing to him when he slipped into inevitable slumber. The exact same words, exact same phrase. 

Bill had been taunting him. 

When Bill had used that stolen nickname, he'd say it with condescending pity. He was mocking him. Like Sixer was just a toy for him to play with. 

When Stanley said it…

It was full of love. 

It always had been. Even when he was annoyed or making fun of him. 

And it was his nickname first, it wasn't fair that Bill had stolen it. 

When Stan had realized that Bill had turned the name Sixer into something to be afraid of, they'd talked and agreed to reclaim it. It wasn't fair that Bill had stolen it, and so the Kings of New Jersey had stolen it back. 

It was a triumph to be able to hear it without the thought of Bill. 

Yes, Ford thought of Bill as he began to fall asleep, on this docked ship on the shore of a town he didn't know, but it was a thought of victory. 

The phrase that Stan whispered could have sent him into a spiral. But it didn't. Because Bill was no more. 

It was safe to sleep. 

—

It became a nightly habit. A part of the routine, if you will. 

Every night, the twins would go to bed together, in their respective bunks. Every night, Ford would take off his glasses and tuck them away safely. He'd pull his blankets over himself. 

He’d look at the ceiling, and he'd ask Stanley a question. 

“Is it safe to sleep?” 

And Stanley would always respond. 

“Yes.” 

And Ford would close his eyes and go to sleep. 

It wasn't straightforward every time. Sometimes Ford would need to ask again to quiet his mind. Sometimes he didn't believe him, and stayed awake in the small bed alone. 

It was made better by knowing that Stan was at least there, breathing just below him.

That meant things were different now. 

—

One night, Stan had gone to sleep early. He must have picked up a cold or something from this new town they were docked at. Lots of rest was important for the immune system, of course. There was no use fretting about it, Ford told himself.

Ford stayed up, flipping through a book that Dipper had given to him when they'd all visited Gravity Falls for the winter holidays. Cryptids around the world. The boy knew him so well. 

At some point, however, it approached the time the twins usually went off to bed. Ford allowed himself an extra hour, but routine called, and he began to get ready to sleep. 

The night was quiet. 

Stanley was already asleep. 

Ford climbed into his top bunk. He tucked his glasses away. He pulled his blankets over himself.

He looked at the ceiling. 

Is it safe to sleep? 

Theoretically, he knew it was. 

Logically, he knew it was. 

He didn't need someone else to tell him that. 

He was a man of reason. 

And yet, as the seconds ticked by, and Ford's eyes stayed wide open…

…he realized, he'd become irrationally afraid. 

These thoughts about Bill, about sleep, the fear of it—None of it made sense!

Bill was gone. And Ford knew that. 

He was safe. And he knew that. 

Stanley was right below him, sleeping away a fever. 

He was safe. They were safe. It should be safe to sleep. 

Why wasn't his mind accepting the explanations? Pure, undeniable facts! How could it go on its own path this way? 

It wasn't fair. 

Ford was a man of reason. There was no reason to be working himself up like this. 

Stanley was there. Breathing just below him. 

He even got out of bed to check. 

He was there. 

Why was he itching to pace? 

Each step he took made too much noise, but he walked the length of the small room anyway. 

Back and forth. 

He tapped his fingers on his chin, thinking. 

There had to be a reason for this uneasy feeling. 

They were docked, they weren't going to sink, were they? 

Back and forth. 

Ford reached into his hair and traced the outline of the metal plate. It was thin, but it was there. He'd always found comfort in that. 

He continued to pace. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

“Stanford?” 

Ford's heart jumped to his throat, and he mentally berated himself for being scared when he realized it was just Stanley. 

He stopped and turned towards his brother. 

Stan rubbed his face. “You trying to rock the boat or what?” 

“No,” Ford whispered. “I was just going to bed.” 

“I can see from how in bed you are.” 

Ford rolled his eyes. “I was just going. I'm…” he sighed. “I'm sorry for waking you.” 

“‘s fine.” 

A brief moment of silence passed. 

Ford forced his legs to walk towards bed, he forced his arms to pull him into the bunk. 

He double checked that his glasses were secure.

He pulled his blankets over himself.

He looked at the ceiling. 

Don't say it, he told himself. 

He didn't need the words. He could tell it to himself. 

He'd bothered Stanley enough tonight. He needed his rest. 

…

…

…

“Stanley?” 

His voice felt far too loud for the small room, for the small moment, for the small question. 

“Mm.” 

Ford breathed, hating himself for asking. 

“Is it safe to sleep?” 

He could have sworn he heard Stanley scoff softly. He was laughing at how irrational Ford was being right now. He was annoyed at the question he'd pestered Stan with every single night. 

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” came Stanley's reply. 

The affirmation comforted Ford. It calmed some of his thoughts. 

Others lingered. 

How could he be so paranoid? Did words really mean that much?

It shouldn't change anything, whether or not he heard those words. 

It's safe to sleep, said Stan's voice in his head. 

Where were you when I needed you, Ford asked the voice in return. 

Now he'd bothered the real Stanley for nothing. 

But the real Stanley was the one that mattered. 

The one in his head had told him lies for years. 

Is it safe to sleep? 

A soft scoff. A small sigh. 

Yeah, ‘course it is. 

Ford heard Stan breathing below him. He listened intently. 

It was safe to sleep. 

Maybe he didn't deserve it, but he closed his eyes and let it take him anyway.